


Underling

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Kissing, Longing, M/M, Repressed Memories, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16764997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Clamerborne threesome fic. Osborne suffered terrible abuse at the hands of bullies when he younger and in his school years. He'd never felt popular amongst his peers - from his days at University to the present day in Parliament - so the already established coupling of Clegg and Cameron decide to make him feel very popular indeed when they invite him into one of the bedrooms at No.10. Set in a sort-of AU where Cameron and Osborne were in the Bullingdon Club at the same time.





	Underling

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2010 to Livejournal.
> 
> Written for a combination of prompts at the uk_lolitics anon kink!meme.

"I remember the last time I had to do this for you," David smirked, twisting the child-proof cap off a new bottle of TCP, the smell knocking him for six and burning the sensitive flesh beneath his nostrils. He dabbed the solution onto a cotton wool pad and applied it accordingly to the bruise above George's left eyebrow, with due attention. It was _bound_ to sting.  
  
The Chancellor winced before replying, "It's a bit different this time, Dave. But I don't think the media would think too highly of the man in charge of the treasury managing to bump into a door on his first day in office." He'd laughed but, as ever, embarrassment tinged the admission. Having had to feign injuries a great many times in the past in covering up the truth of what was really happening to him at public school, he had quite the reputation for being a clumsy oaf. Even if it wasn't exactly justifiable.  
  
When the pair were younger, bullying became a ritual for Gideon. During his time at the Bullingdon Club, he was reportedly nicknamed ‘Oik’ because he had gone to St Paul’s public school instead of Eton or Harrow. A popular lark among his Buller men was to hold him upside-down by the ankles and scream: "Who are you?" After several ‘wrong’ answers, each resulting in Gids being dropped on his head, they'd finally let him go - but only after him having squealed something rather shameful about himself. Soon Cameron was forced to play doctor to his patient every night; it became a regular example of the bonding which went on between them.  
  
George had yearned for his love every day since then. However, David had only ever seen him as a sort-of little brother type - never to be taken seriously, always 'up for a giggle' - George Osborne. Godfather to his babies, a shoulder to lean or cry on, _yes_ , but _hardly_ an object of lust. So why was David staring at him like _that_ now? Surely he was just imagining it. Cameron smeared the bud back and forth across the split skin, eventually sticking an elastoplast where the cut had been, but continued to fixate, mouth agape.  
  
"What?" Gids asked him, worried.  
  
His line of questioning was cut short by the sound of a nearby handle being turned. Fair dues; it was Nick Clegg. He knew that, of all people, the Deputy Prime Minister wouldn't be inclined to leak his tales to the press, but he did feel slightly uncomfortable in being treated here and now by David's loving hands. Especially given the nature of the relationship the whole cabinet knew was going on between _those_ two, i.e. Nick and David. Not as if he was _jealous_ , or anything. But – anyway - the man who had been tending to his wounds did not budge. He tugged on his lip with deliberation and, as soon as the door was firmly closed, delivered a proposal which George was unlikely to _forget_ in a hurry.  
  
"Nick and I have had a discussion about you..."  
  
__Oh, fuck.__ _They were going to bring up his expenses - he just knew it. He had better not try and claim for that broken door_ _ _now__ _._  
  
"He's _told_ me... he's _seen_ the way that you look at me," Cameron put bluntly.  
  
"David said he hadn't noticed," Clegg sidled beside George, leaning over his chair with both hands gripped tightly to the armrests. "But I don't believe he could _ever_ have overlooked somebody so needing... somebody so _deserving_ of his affections."  
  
Gideon shivered. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. But, as Nick shifted from one side of him to the other, and shot him a glare that was pure sex, he had a feeling he knew _who_ had suggested this.  
  
"We both _want_ you," the older of them added. "We want to make up for the years of you being _ignored_ by your peers."  
  
He'd always hoped his first gay kiss would have been with David, but Nick was the one to initiate proceedings by placing a big one right on his mouth, using tongue and everything. My, was that boy _forward_. The Prime Minister certainly had the most impeccable taste in men. Clegg drew back with an assuring smile and straightened his tie, so handsome and tall. George's dreams were rapidly becoming a reality.  
  
For David, the leap was much tougher, for the lingering memories of their teenage years interfered with the job at hand. The concept of snogging George when they'd been alone together and drunk had been tempting and, often, downright overwhelming. But he'd blamed it on the booze, and had never told another living person of these fleeting thoughts. So, with this in mind, he swallowed and lunged forward, his soft lips clashing with Gids' own, as his heart practically ripped through his ribcage with a beat so _powerful_ it almost lifted him from his seat.  
  
There was only one kiss left to complete the set. Nicholas was so possessive of his beautiful partner that he'd pulled Cameron back from George in an instant, before he'd gotten too attached - and brought it around to full circle again, with a somewhat of a savvy smirk.  
  
  
  
-xXx-  
  
  
  
The three of them were soon embroiled in the most unusual encounter on a king-size bed in No.10. Dazed, they'd sort of fallen into it after Nick had suggested they spend some special time together upstairs - to take George's mind off the accident, _of course._ But it was _Osborne_ who was the most confused - everyone seemed to know what was going on except for him; he'd been stripped of his clothes and, before he knew where he was, they were all stark-bollock naked on the sheets. Trying to avert himself from seeing anything he shouldn't have (though he rather thought it _was_ the idea that he was _supposed_ to) he hadn't even noticed the hand which gently grazed against his furry buttocks, stroking the downy fluff.  
  
A mystery pair of lubricated fingers then scissored inside him, in a flash, without warning and in surprise. He threw his head back violently and, as if he was on the cusp of an epileptic fit, his eyeballs rolled into the tops of their sockets until, a zombified slave, there were only the whites showing clean. Like riding the crest of a rollercoaster, they spun upwards into the pitch darkness of his blank thoughts - and the fear of unknowing that came with being able to see _nothing_ at all - before coming down again, from their high, to settle upon a familiar face; a calming, soothing face, which had always been there for him in times gone by. It was David's. At last he knew _who_ was pleasuring him from behind, as he realised the _Prime Minister's_ hands couldn't have been down there, for they were currently cradling his face with concern.  
  
"Shh... It's okay," he hushed him. "I, _we_... would never hurt you, George."  
  
The younger man whimpered, clearly frightened and unsure of whether he'd made the right decision, or even if he'd _made_ the decision at all.  
  
"You might be a little oik... But you're _my_ little oik, remember?"  
  
Osborne was bombarded with memories he'd long to forget; before he could orient himself on this particular bed, he was thrown onto the bunks of his university dorm, over twenty years ago. Culture Club were on the airwaves, he seemed to have noted, as it was he himself who owned the cassette - and it was he _himself_ who had learned the dangers of playing it too loudly on his walkman. Besides the sham of an excuse that was his 'inferior background,' the Bullingdon boys simply didn't like cross-dressing queers. They'd kicked the living crap out of him. Cameron had watched on in distress from the rear of the group, though hadn't _dared_ intervene. It was enough of a risk for him to hang back. Having taken pity on George, he'd aided his limping frame up to the room which later became their shared living space - and nursed him throughout the evening, back to health and into good spirits. Through his long, spaniel ears of hair, he'd admired David in _that_ _ _special__ way, praying he'd reciprocate. But he never did.  
  
Now a tongue was sampling those emotions for itself, and another was hot on its tail. Nibbling the earlobe before him with devilishly pointy incisors, Clegg's tongue soon followed; a butter knife on bread, it curled around and into his ear, spreading strawberry jam from anvil to hammer. His dulcet tones had been as equally delicious. He gasped with the sole intention for Gids to hear it, and knew he'd obtained the wanted reaction when he felt his friend go weak at the knees, shuddering suddenly. The room had changed and, _somehow_ , he was the late eighties again - as if in some pornographic version of Ashes To Ashes - but it wasn't all new romantics, or Rubiks Cubes - it was the palpable feeling of being young and alive; the innocent uncertainty of youth. He closed his eyes, ironically, as Go West played on in his mind - an old favourite of his.  
  
He pondered the lyrics. Something about not giving into temptation – something about envisaging the 'final frame' of the scene instead of acting out on it. And of course, that was exactly what he _had_ done: he'd just _waited_ for the desire to go away. Smiling at the absurdity of the notion, he knew that his latent thirst for men could not have been quenched any more then than it was now. It _was_ what it _was_ – and. if only he had known then, he'd have saved himself a lot of anguish.  
  
Gideon clenched around Nick's fingers, slickened with sweat and Vaseline, as they multiplied from two to three. Then, the darker-haired gentleman tensed and arched his back, jerkily and in the heightening throes of ecstasy. So much so, that the moan of misery was audible when said fingers temporarily retracted from his hole.  
  
But he wouldn't be disappointed for long. He was unsure whose cock had entered him initially - he was so far gone, it could have been both cocks at once for all he knew - as it felt so thick and _filling_ , the muscle could _barely_ move inside him at first. It was the Liberal's large member, incidentally. His slender, though surprisingly strong, body produced a fluid motion behind George which rocked into him with a steady rhythm. As much as double penetration would have _really_ consummated this love triangle, the receiving end would have undoubtedly been far too painful. And. even if the idea of their dicks writhing in unison within George's tight anus turned David on to a point of nearly coming, he could never bring himself to cause his dear chancellor pain.  
  
"Nngh, David!" Gideon groaned, thrusting his sphincter downwards.  
  
"It's Nick," the breathless voice reminded him again, biting at his neck, growling.  
  
Cameron could do nothing but caress the reddened, puffed out cheeks. It was almost as if he couldn't touch Osborne sexually. Too much had gone unsaid.  
  
George's eyes flickered open to meet with his fellow politician's, his own head bobbing up and down with enough vigour to make him feel nauseous. The features of David's forty-something face were hardly any different to what they had been then; a few more lines, a bald patch he tried to cover. But nothing could take away from the fact that it was _David_ holding him now and _David_ providing him with such intense relief. Because Nick belonged to _him_ , but _he_ was willing to share absolutely anything and be so selfless, in the same way that _he'd_ bought him lunch when his dinner money had been robbed, or given him his sister's lipsticks from a make-up bag which _he'd_ stolen without a single question asked. Despite marrying, Gideon's feelings for _him_ were unrivalled.  
  
"Ahh... always loved you," he grunted, pounded from behind. "You've always known that, haven't you?"  
  
Yes, he did. And _shit_ , this had gone too far. David never meant to end up falling for _him_ too. He could fight off the need no longer; gingerly and wishing not to be as rough as his counterpart, he reached for George's straining erection, still untouched in this transaction, and cupped gently what could have been described as his 'blue' balls. They ached for discharge. And within the minute, they did. His penis which, regardless of having spent several years in uni together, Cameron couldn't remember ever having seen - twitched and quivered madly, covering the pair of them in tory semen. This triggered the Prime Minister's own release without so much as a lending hand.  
  
_"Everyone wants you Gids,"_ George said to himself, still bucking into his partner's grasp. _"David wants you... Even his hot 'tab' boyfriend fucking wants you."_  
  
It had always been David with the pretty ones on his arm. He'd been the eye-candy of the pair; probably more to do with confidence than anything else. But nobody wanted to be the loner on the far side of the room, pretending to be asleep with a blanket over his head and desperately trying to block out the sexual noises his schoolfriend was making in the other bed, after having brought whatever male or female who happened to be in the vicinity back with him after hours. Because he'd so deeply wanted to be _involved_ in some way or another - he could have been just as good, just as slutty for him. _Well_ , now he _was_ in bed with David and his partner – now, he _was._  
  
The Cambridge graduate finally slammed home, the rumpled condom enduring as much hammer as it could have taken, before Nick spilled into it in haste. Clegg soulfully glanced at Cameron, and he returned the gaze. Enjoying taking centre stage, Osborne remained in the middle of a two-pillowed, two-sided bed which was most _definitely_ made for _two_ , and not such a distinctly _unconventional_ coupling - whilst basking quietly in the post-orgasmic chill, with two figures out of _three_ lovers, draped wearily across his body.  
  
_"You're popular now, Gids... You're so popular at last.."_


End file.
